IN o more for us the little sighing. br No more the winds at twilight trouble us. br br Lo the fair dead! br br No more do I burn. br br No more for us the fluttering of wings br That whirred in the air above us. br br Lo the fair dead! br br No more desire flayeth me, br No more for us the trembling br At the meeting of hands. br br Lo the fair dead! br br No more for us the wine of the lips, br No more for us the knowledge. br Lo the fair dead! br br No more the torrent, br No more for us the meeting-place br (Lo the fair dead!) br Tintagoel.